Light reflecting on the crisp snow; its blue hue a taste of the clear sky above. The full moon in all her glory, keeping darkness to the periphery. Shadows and light through the forest, Like dancers in a crowded ballroom, drifting with each flicker of my lantern. The wind at my back pushes me along through the deep snow. Forward it seems to say; as if chasing dawn.

I come into a clearing and beyond lies the village common. Deserted this time of year for the warm hearth. Ambling along I see lights in the windows of some of the houses, and laughter. Only darkness and silence in others. As I continue onward this chilly eve I ponder. Is the spirit of community still alive? If I rang the bell at one of these homes would they welcome this stranger in to warm by the fire? Or would I be turned away, another outsider to fear? Is compassion only alive In the memory of yesterday?